Thursday, August 12, 2010

Windows and Mist

Back to The Time On My Hands, for a minute or so. In fact, why not several minutes? By all accounts, I have them to spare. Of late, I've had to deal with a cranky car, an unsure job market, a major plumbing repair and an unsettling series of flashbacks to the last time I was between jobs, which was 2002 and it stretches back and into itself due to a truly unfortunate set of circumstances.

My father was sore but not demonstrably ill at the start of that summer. And I was out of a job. Nobody could have known how bad it was going to get - or how fast - but the simultaneous occurance of both incidents always reminds me that I could have spent some of that idle time with him, rather than being stoic and keeping to myself as I looked for work. I didn't want to bother my family with what I thought was a problem I was solely responsible to solve.

At any other time, this might have been a reasonable thing to do. Instead, it squandered what little time was left. By the time things got truly nightmarish on the health front (around September), I remembered the hanging hours and felt the clock had been started without me.

Any backwards glance through an unclear window is not going to be pleasing. The Psych 101 student of your choice could boil my recent twitching down into a few sentences: looking for a job at any time isn't fun and the subconscious mind looks for something to latch onto during the emotional whirlwind. 2010 is not 2002 in any sense of the term (emotionally/financially/professionally) but if I get the occasional Billy Pilgrim flashback it probably shouldn't be unexpected.

These range from the uncomfortable to the almost pleasantly nostalgic: my neighbour gave me a large bottle of Citra wine the other day. I drank a lot of it from 2001 to 2003 or so, it was the house wine at Teronni for awhile and it was a good all-around cheap table wine. I would bring it to my parents' house for Sunday dinners, insisting everyone take a small glass. "It's good for the blood," seemed as good an excuse as any. When I poured a glass the other day, the dinners - atmosphere - everything - consumed all other reason for a few minutes, combusting into nothingness as soon as it came.

After that, I needed a drink. Just not Citra. But myy wife and I finished it tonight with Pizza Nova pizza (which I haven't touched or craved in years) and wings. A treat eight years ago. Not exactly outgrown, but not in the too-tired-to-cook repertoire for a very long time.

Pizza and wine never killed anybody, not every glass has to be operatic. Tonight's was just thin and tasty and finally led to sleep.

Aug 2010


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